Watching Stars
by MoreColourfulMoniker
Summary: She's spent so long behind her walls she no longer feels their icy shadow. He's smashing them down, bit by bit, mending himself in the process. Sometimes, it takes someone as damaged as ourselves to truly see our own fractures. Rating may change.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter I

**Emma**

The voyage to Neverland seemed endless to Emma. Appropriate, considering the destination. The Jolly Roger was a large ship—she daren't say as much to Hook, a lurid innuendo and that damn smirk of his would follow—but she wasn't infinite by any means, and too many of her six occupants hated each other for the voyage to be smooth.

Emma had taken to spending most of her time on deck, thanks to Gold and Regina's penchant for spending most of their time below deck making potions and writing out spells for everything imaginable. Emma wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know why there was a spell for setting someone's blood on fire, but Gold had written it out anyway and given her a copy.

Emma liked to go right to the front of the ship—the bow, Hook had told her—and watch the waves slapping against the brightly painted hull. She stood there, leaning forwards to rest her elbows on the the rail. She could taste salt on the ocean breeze that blew her hair forwards around her face in an infuriating blond cloud. As long as it filled the sails as well, speeding the ship towards Henry, she didn't mind.

David and Mary Margaret stood together on the main deck, glancing up at her with increasing frequency and concern. No doubt they expected her to fall from the deck into the waves below. She was surprised David hadn't taken up a stance beside her, arms out ready to catch her.

With a sigh, she abandoned the cerulean water and strolled over to her parents. "What's up? You've been watching me all afternoon."

They glanced at each other and said, at the same time, "We were just—"

Mary Margaret broke off, smiling at her husband. "We were just making sure you're okay," David finished.

"Why would I not be okay?" Emma asked.

David rubbed at the back of his neck; it was a nervous habit of his Emma had noticed. "It's not easy losing your child, Emma, even when you know you're going to get him back."

"Right. But, I know I _am _going to get him back. Freaking out about it won't help Henry." She told him firmly.

"Even so," Mary Margaret insisted. "We wanted you to know we have every confidence in you, and you can talk to us if you need to."

Emma nodded, stepping back. "Good to know." Her parents were still gazing at her searchingly. She hated to admit it, but she found them stifling in their overprotectiveness. "Yeah, I'll, uh, talk to you if I need to. I'm just going to check with Hook . . . see how long it's going to be."

The excuse was poor, but they didn't challenge her when she turned and strode across the deck and jogged up the stairs to the raised platform that housed the ship's steering wheel. She was sure there was a special name for both the raised deck and the wheel, but she was damned if she was asking the cocky pirate.

Hook stood at the wheel of the ship, watching the sea with an expect eye and adjusting their course as needed. He looked up when Emma approaches, flashing her his charming smile. "Miss Swan," he greeted her, spreading hand and hook before him. "Welcome to the helm. Do you fancy a go at steering her?"

"No," Emma replied. "I fancy you telling me how long before we reach shore. It doesn't seem to be getting much closer. I thought this was the fastest ship ever?"

Undaunted, Hook stepped away from the wheel—helm—and gestured for her to take his place. "I'll tell you while you steer," he grinned.

She walked over reluctantly, sliding a hand onto the smooth, warm wood. It was almost silky to touch, worn and polished by centuries of hands on the wood. _Hook's hands, _she realised. _Well, hand._ "So, how long until we land?"

"Dock," he corrected her. She resisted the urge to thump him, gripping the wheel tighter instead. "It's hard to say, love. The way time works here is different, so it could feel like weeks have passed when it's only been days in other realms. I'd say in Neverland time, we have three days until we dock, if the wind remains favourable. Don't grip so tight, you needn't use much strength unless you're fighting a storm."

It took her a second to realise his last remark was directed to her sailing technique. "What's it going to be like, in Neverland? I'm guessing it's not much like the Disney film."

Hook frowned. "Disney film? What is that?"

"Kind of like a book. It tells the story of Peter Pan, or the story as far as our world knows. In the story, Peter's some kid who can fly and there's the Lost Boys, his friends. They all dress up like animals and play with mermaids and Indians." Emma explained. It wasn't the best synopsis of a Disney classic, perhaps, but Hook seemed fascinated.

"There are Lost Boys," he agreed, "and mermaids. Tell me, love, am I in this film of yours?"

For a second, Emma let herself imagine what Hook would think of his cartoon counterpart. "Yeah, but you're a little different. In the film Hook is about twenty years older than you, with a perm and a waxed moustache."

Hook laughed loudly, turning his face into the wind. "It must have been such a pleasant surprise to meet the real version," he grinned.

"Don't flatter yourself," she replied. "Really, don't."

The sound of boots on the wooden deck caught Emma's attention. She turned to see Gold watching them with raised eyebrows. He'd changed into leather trousers and a jacket that looked to be made of crocodile skin. It was only when she turned that Emma realised how close she was to Hook; she could feel the warmth of him against her back and his arm braced against the helm blocked her path.

"Gold," she greeted, ducking under Hook's arm. "Have you made any progress?"

"More than you have," Regina called from the main deck. "I'm sure we all have time for you two to flirt."

"A wardrobe change is a much more valuable use of time," Hook snapped, glaring at Gold.

Gold shrugged. "I need to be prepared."

"For what?" David asked him.

"I'm going to the island to find my grandson," he declared.

Mary Margaret frowned. "We all are," she reminded him.

"I work best alone." Gold told her. "Goodbye, Dearies," Red smoke enveloped him, and when it cleared, he was gone.

A steady, cold rain began to fall; silence covered the ship in a heavy, cloying blanket. Emma counted six seconds before everyone broke the silence at once. "I told you we could never trust that bloody crocodile—" Hook snarled, resting his hand on his long cutlass.

"He might not have left if you had done your job rather than chasing after my daughter," David snapped, crowding onto the upper deck with Mary Margaret and Regina on his heels.

Hook scowled at him. "Does it count as chasing when she's the one who came to talk to me?"

David's expression darkened. "I won't let you touch her, pirate."

"I have no intention of touching the lady until she begs for it," Hook grinned.

She was going to punch him herself if he didn't shut up, even if David was being a complete idiot. "Guys, I can think for myself. I can talk to who I want—"

"You'll have to go through me," David cut her off as if she hadn't spoken. Emma watched, horrified, while David and Hook drew their swords, circling each other slowly. David's face was murderous, but there was a wicked grin on Hook's face. He was enjoying bating her father, the bastard.

Regina rounded on Mary Margaret. "Can't you control your husband? If they kill each other who's going to steer the damn ship?"

"If you hadn't made that stupid comment about them flirting this would never have happened!" Mary Margaret yelled back.

Regina's eyebrows rose incredulously. "You're blaming me for this?"

"It's your fault!"

The sky darkened and the wind rose, cracking through the sails. Beside her, the ship's wheel spun out of control. The Jolly Roger lurched and rocked in the rising waves.

"Hook!" Emma shouted, grabbing at the helm. Rain had made the wood slick and impossible to grasp. "I can't hold the wheel, I need your help," she called.

Her voice was lost in the wind. David and Hook danced around each other, swords biting together faster than Emma could follow. "We're going to sink!" she cried.

The storm had come on far too quickly to be normal. Maybe Neverland had worse weather than Storybrooke, but the sea had been calm and still not five minutes ago. Behind her, Regina had a fireball in her hand, aimed at a furious Mary Margaret. Looking back and forth between her fighting companions, realisation struck Emma. "It's us," she murmured. "It's us!" She yelled again, her voice as loud as possible over the sound of the storm and the ringing of David and Hook's swords. "The storm's magic," she cried. Even as she yelled at them, she realised they were all lost to the magic.

"Fine," she muttered, climbing up onto the side of the ship. "If you won't listen, _watch_."

David had his sword levelled against Hook's chest, Emma saw, but the pirate's hook was pressed into her father's throat, the wickedly sharp point waiting to rip through his flesh like a hot knife through butter.

She cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed at them. "Mom! Dad! Regina, Hook, stop!"

David and Mary Margaret glanced up, anger clouding their eyes, and Emma knew she'd never stop them with words alone. She closed her eyes and stepped backwards, tumbling through the air until she hit icy water hard enough to knock the breath from her. The salt burned in her eyes and her nostrils and pressed against her until her lungs were empty bags, too small and shattered to be any use. She opened her mouth to gasp in air but there was only water to be found.

She didn't know if the darkness was the stormy sea or her eyes drifting closed.

**Hook:**

He hardly noticed her jump he was so caught in his bloodlust. Something within him had _snapped_. It took her parents screams for him to shake free of the magic, just in time to see the other three rush to the rail after her. _Not Emma_, _please,_ _not Emma,_ he prayed silently. He wasn't sure if it was her smile or her hair, her laugh or just possibly her arse, but he couldn't let Emma Swan die. _We understand each other._

David had one foot on the rail, ready to jump after his daughter. "Wait!" Hook yelled, grabbing a long coil of rope stashed beneath the helm. "You can't go after her," he said.

"She'll drown!" David shouted, throwing his sword down onto the deck and readying to jump once more.

Hook grabbed his shoulder and jerked him back swiftly. "So will _you_. None of you are strong enough swimmers for this storm, you'll be swept under the ship in a second or die of the cold. I'll go after her, I'm the only one who can."

"I can save my own daughter, pirate," the prince snapped.

"No you can't. You need to hook this to the winch, we don't have time to pull," Hook instructed, shoving the coil of rope towards to other man. David didn't take it, simply stared at him. "Hurry up! Do you want her to freeze to death?" That got them moving.

Hook shrugged out of his thick leather coat and sword belt, dropping them to the deck and winding the rope around his shoulders. "Pull on the winch as soon as you see us," he told them. He didn't stop to see if they'd heard, diving neatly off the rail into the water below.

Silence surrounded him save for the roaring of his pulse in his ears. At first, all he saw was dark, churning water and flickering light on the surface. _Where are you, Swan?_

He ignored the sharp needling in his lungs, and twisted in the water. _There_. At least five feet below him and sinking fast. He dove down, slicing through the salty water like a sleek black fish. The salt burned his eyes and his lungs are tight with want of air, but he wasn't worried. Killian Jones had been swimming in stormy seas for as long as he could remember, and his breath has never failed him.

Emma's hair surrounded her, fanning out in the water into a ghostly cloud. It brushed his hands, silky soft, when he reached for her, grasping her beneath the arms and hauling her to him. _Come on, princess._ For a single, petty second, he wished David was there to see his hands on her skin, his arm holding her tight against him.

The rope twisted in the current, wrapping itself around his arm. It was thick and heavy, woven to brace the great canvas sails to the main mast, and it weighed him down in the water, chafing between his shoulder blades with every stroke. He considered cutting through it; it would take him seconds with his hook. He couldn't risk it, he knew. Emma was a dead weight in his arms; strong as he was he'd never pull them both up the slick, drenched hull in this storm.

Two strong kicks brought them bursting to the surface a few metres from the Jolly Roger's hull, Emma's head lolling back on his shoulder. He'd hoped she'd wake when they broke the surface, but it's not uncommon for her to stay unconscious. "Hey," he called, treading water. He held Emma close with his right hand and waved his hook at the ship. "Pull us in!"

He let the rope pull them in, saving his effort to pull them over the rail. He lifted Emma over first, bracing himself against the rail. David and Mary Margaret grabbed their daughter from his arms, laying her on the deck and shaking her with increasing panic. "Emma? Emma, wake up!" Mary Margaret murmured, stroking the girl's hair.

Hook hoisted himself onto the deck and collected his sword belt. He noticed the rain had stopped and weak sunlight fell over his broad shoulders, beginning to dry out the black cotton shirt he wore. Emma was still unconscious, laid on her back on the deck. She made a lovely figure there, sunlight spilling over her fair skin and yellow-gold hair, and Hook caught himself imagining another reason she might lie back on his deck in the sun.

David and Mary Margaret didn't share his fond imaginings, fussing over their daughter with eager, terrified hands.

"Regina, do something," Mary Margaret urged the witch, pulling her daughter's head into her lap.

The magic wielder shrugged, looking down at the unconscious woman with something between disgust, helplessness, concern and malice. Hook was almost impressed she managed to balance the emotions so equally on her ruby-painted lips. "I'm not very good as saving spells," she complained. _I don't really care,_ Hook translated her words. What was it to Regina if Swan died?

"Step aside," he commanded Emma's parents, kneeling next to her. David glared at him, refusing to move from his daughter's side. "I said _step aside._ Bloody hell, you step on a ship and think you know every danger and every treatment immediately. I have been bringing people back from the sea for three hundred years, I can save her, I promise." He'd revived too many clumsy cabin boys to be unsure of himself, and self-doubt wasn't in Killian Jones' vocabulary.

They sat back on their heels and watched intently. He felt their gazes burning into him as he pulled Emma up, leaning her against his shoulder and tilting her head back. He had only to run his hand over her throat once before she coughed, violently spewing sea water onto the deck. Hook crouched beside her and patted her shoulder happily. "Welcome back, Swan. Try not to die on my deck again."

She coughed again, gaining her breath back quickly. "You saved me," she gasped.

"Never could resist a damsel," he winked, collecting his coat from the deck. The leather was wet from the storm, he noted, but still undamaged after three centuries of service.

David and Mary Margaret hugged their daughter tight; Emma's mother gave him a grateful nod. He turned away from the small family and strode towards his cabin, a comfortable, warm room beneath the quarterdeck. He paused by Regina on his way inside. "Mind the helm for an hour or two, and then tell David it's his turn." He'd given them all a crash course on steering the ship on the first day of the journey, but he didn't trust any of them at the wheel for longer than necessary, snatching a few hours of sleep between his own long shifts.

Regina caught his arm, fingernails digging into his skin. "I thought you were on my side. Our side. Why did you try so hard to save her?" She demanded quietly.

Hook glanced back at Emma and her parents. The sun shone on her hair and turned into strands of bright gold. "Why didn't you? We're all a team on this ship, Regina, for your boy's sake. Maybe think about killing off his other parents when you actually have him safe."

"I hope you're not thinking of being disloyal, Hook," Regina smiled icily.

He matched her cold smile with one of his own; enough menace to the curl of his lip to remind her that Captain Hook had been sailing the seas as the most notorious pirate in all the realms three hundred years before she screamed her first breath. "I'm always loyal," he told her. "To myself."

**Emma:**

Her cabin was just big enough for her to take four paces before she hit one of three walls or a narrow, hard bunk. It was one of four identical cabins in the bowels of the Jolly Roger. A level above, there were two larger ones equipped with twin beds. David and Mary Margaret had one and Gold had claimed the second. Now he'd left Emma would have put a bid in for the larger cabin herself, but Regina had beaten her to it. As well as the six crew cabins, there were hammocks in the galley, and of course Hook's own cabin beneath the quarterdeck.

She still hadn't really thanked him for saving her life. Not without Mary Margaret and David looking on, their gratitude to him almost painful on their faces they distrusted him so much. Even Mary Margaret, always so willing to find good in everyone, couldn't seem to trust the pirate. Of course, until the beginning of the week, he'd been firmly on the villain's side.

Emma ran a hand through her hair, still damp at the ends from her swim. Hook had spent nearly eleven hours at the helm and had only just allowed Regina to take her turn. She looked back at her uncomfortable bed and rubbed at the crick in her neck, turning on her heel and marching along the corridor, leaving her cabin door swinging behind her.

The two flights of stairs up to the deck creaked beneath her boots satisfyingly. She glanced up at Regina, who was leaning against the wheel with a bored expression on her face. The older woman didn't acknowledge her when Emma walked over to Hook's cabin door. The wood was the same smooth, silkily aged wood as the rest of the ship, darkened around the handle and at her eyelevel from years of people knocking and opening the door.

She rapped on the wood with the back of her knuckles, three short taps as loud as she dared. Regina gave the rest of them enough grief about wasting time without her seeing Emma go into Hook's cabin.

She heard him move inside the cabin, the rustling sound of clothes being hurriedly pulled on. When he opened the door a heartbeat later, it was with his usual leather trousers and black shirt, but missing the leather waistcoat and long coat. His sword was in his hand—bare of rings, Emma noted—and his hook in place.

"What's wrong? Is—" he broke off, stifling a yawn. "Is everything alright?"

His thick black hair was flat on one side; the ocean salt had given it a slight wave. "I'm sorry I woke you," she murmured. "I wanted to say thank you for saving me."

"You already said it," he said, confused.

There was something off about his face. It took her a moment to realise that the kohl around his eyes was gone, washed away when he dived after her or simply because he was sleeping, she wasn't sure. Without it, his cerulean eyes were a shade darker. "Not properly. You saved my life, Hook."

He smirked, and even without the coat and the eyeliner, it was exactly as annoying yet alluring as it always was. "Don't let me stop you, love," he grinned. "The bed's not made, but there's a perfectly good desk—"

"Shut up," she snapped, pushing past him into the cabin.

She stopped in the doorway and looked round the cabin, amazed. The walls were lined with book cases, holding logues, star charts, maps, journals, atlases. There was a bed on the left, at least three times the breath of the one in her cabin, covered with silky white sheets and large pillows. The back wall was almost entirely panelled windows, bordered by a long, low window seat. Hook's desk was dark, polished, the top covered by maps and logues. Lamps burned around the room, throwing yellow light against dark shadows.

Hook shut the door behind them and strolled over to his desk, setting his sword down on a table. "You like it?" he asked, gesturing around.

"This isn't fair. My cabin's a box." She sighed, leaning back against the wall.

Hook's smile didn't waver. "You are welcome in my cabin any time, love."

"Oh my God, do you ever stop?" she rolled her eyes, picking up a map from the desk, covered in his bold handwriting; all broad, strong curves and aggressive slashes. It took her a second to realise it was most likely written with the quill she saw on the desk. She kept forgetting the Enchanted Forest was so medieval.

"Why would I stop when you so relish my advances?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

She glared at him, setting the map down once more. "Hook, I was being serious."

He caught her hand in his and met her eyes. "So was I," he murmured.

Emma froze and tried to pull her hand free, but he held tight with strong fingers. The smile on his lips was inviting and almost shy, worlds away from his usual sarcastic smirk. His hand was warm around hers, roughly calloused from years wielding a sword and pulling on ropes. It was nice, actually, but she tugged free anyway, because Henry's hand was the only one she could let herself think of holding. If she let herself be distracted by the man in front of her with his earnest blue gaze and his gentle smile, Henry was in danger. She'd never forgive herself if he was hurt while she still searched for him.

"Hook, I can't. If I think of anyone but Henry, it'll be my fault if he's hurt. I don't want to ruin—I don't want to blame you for distracting me, I really don't." She told him, as firm as she could make her voice.

He hesitated, then nodded. "I promised to do everything I could to find the lad, and that promise stands. But—" he said quickly when she began to turn, catching her around the wrist with his hook. "You can't forget about yourself. You're no use to him ill or injured, and he'd want you to be happy. I'm not asking for anything, only that you let the rest of us look after you. Your parents care for you as much as you care for Henry, Swan."

She backed away, clenching her hand into a tight fist to get rid of the tantalising feel of his hand clasping hers. "If you really want to help me you can give me a decent pillow," she said finally.

Whatever it had been, the moment between them was gone. When Hook smiled, it was with the familiar sarcastic tilt, an eyebrow raised in a way that was simultaneously mocking, obscene and sexy as hell. "I have offered—"

"And I've refused. Where do you keep spare pillows? Tell me you have at least one spare on this boat." She said curtly.

"Ship," he corrected her brusquely, striding over to his bed. He took two of his own pillows and handed them to her. "Can I help you with anything else?"

She remembered his stifled yawn and felt something near to guilt. "Sorry, I'm keeping you up. Uh, goodnight, I guess. Thanks for the pillows."

"For you," he smirks, "I would stay up all night. In fact, I—" Emma left, shutting the door behind her before he could finish his sentence. She heard him chuckle as she left.

Emma hurried back to her cabin, pillows under one arm. It seemed even smaller after the grandeur of Hook's, and she couldn't deny the weird, briny smell. The bed was welcome, as small as it was, and it was actually comfy with the addition of Hook's pillows.

They smelled of him, she realised, burying her head into the soft white cotton; his distinctive smell that was leather and rum, salt and the ocean itself. The scent made her long for something she couldn't put a name to that definitely wasn't her son. Guiltily, she pushed the longing aside and slipped into sleep thinking of Henry, alone on the island.


	2. Chapter 2

The oil lamp had burned out when Emma woke, and the water-tight hull didn't let a chink of light into the small cabin. It should have felt claustrophobic, but the quiet sound of waves against the Jolly Roger and the smooth rolling of the ship made the dark room a calm, comforting place. It was impossible to tell whether it was noon or the dead of night.

Sweeping her hair into a high ponytail, Emma unlatched the cabin door and strode down the corridor. The stairs up to deck were washed with sunlight, bright enough that she had to squint.

David stood at the helm, his hands unsure on the wheel. She couldn't help compare his rigid, uncomfortable stance with Hook's effortless, natural grace; Hook steered the Jolly Roger like an extension of his body and his heart. David looked like he was walking an awkward dog and was waiting to be bitten.

"Morning," she called, jogging up the stairs to the quarterdeck. "Is it still morning?"

David frowned down at his watch. "I don't know. My watch stopped when we arrived here; not sure if that's Neverland or the gallon of sea water I was dunked in."

Emma smiled, leaning back against the rail. "You don't look very happy there," she observed with a nod to the helm. "Where's Hook?"

"He's in his cabin. Gave me a two minute lesson that boiled down to 'keep the wheel where it is' and disappeared. He said something about working out our course." A salty breeze gusted across the deck suddenly and the wheel drifted slightly to starboard. Cursing, David righted it woodenly. Emma watched him with raised eyebrows. "Um, no offence to your outstanding nautical skills, but I think I'll take over, if you don't mind."

David stepped aside, the offence on his face lacking any real force. "What makes you think you'll be any better than me?"

She shrugged, sliding her fingers over the wheel. Warmed by the sun and David's hands, it fit into her grip nicely. "My lesson was longer than two minutes," she said.

She'd meant it as a joke, but David sighed, a frown playing on his lips. "Hmm, I bet it was," he mumbled.

"What was that?" She demanded, narrowing her eyes at him. Father or not, David was her age, and his absence for the first twenty eight years of his life pretty much negated his right to tell her off, Emma thought. "I'm not sure I heard you right."

David matched her glare with his own scathing glance. "I'm sure you did. Emma, you're not blind or stupid. You must know Hook's . . . interested in you."

"Interested in finding Henry, yes," Emma stone-walled, clenching her fist around a spoke on the wheel.

"He looks at you like—"

"Like _what?_ Like I'm an attractive, adult woman his age? So what? He's a big boy, I'm sure he can handle a little one-sided crush without it messing with finding Henry." She snapped, cutting her father off.

David rubbed at the back of his neck angrily. "He's older than you," he muttered finally.

She had to bite back a laugh. "By a couple of years, or three centuries? Which bothers you more? Oh, David, I know you're only looking out for me. But I can take care of myself—at least where Hook's concerned."

David looked at her searchingly, then nodded. "If you're sure," he conceded. "Let me know when you change your mind; I'll break his arm."

He disappeared below deck, calling for Mary Margaret as he went. His voice faded and Emma felt the tension in her shoulders lessen. She refused to think about what he'd said—the idea that Hook was genuinely interested in her, beyond one-time sex, made her stomach ache with want and dread in equal measures.

She drove the idea from her mind, grasping the helm firmly. _Keep it where it is,_ David had said. That was easier said than done, actually, when every finger of breeze played with the sails and tiny eddies in the tide built up into waves that slapped the hull, rocking the Jolly Roger gently.

She fixed her eyes beyond the great masts, past the prow towards the glittering ocean before them. It was a living thing, twisting and changing shape with every current. No patch of water looked exactly the same, she saw after a while. For a second, she let herself imagine what it would be like to live on a ship. A new horizon every morning. She could grow to love the sea very easily, she realised, more than her parent's castle or their little loft in Storybrooke. The realisation drew her thoughts stubbornly back to Hook and she swore under her breath.

As if summoned by her inability to keep him from her mind, Hook's cabin door opened and he strode out, flexing his shoulders and rolling his neck. He looked for David at the helm and his kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of her steering the ship instead. "You're a natural." He called, appearing on the quarterdeck. His feet were sure on the rocking boards while hers were still tentative and when he reached out and slipped his hand onto the helm beside hers, the wood looked as though it moulded to his grip.

She pursed her lips, stepping back. "If I'm a natural, what does that make you?"

"Experienced," he smirked, "and a very good teacher."

She relinquished the helm to him without protest. "Whatever. Do you know what time it is? Does time even work here?"

He glanced up at the sky; it took her a second to realise his gaze was on the sun. "An hour before noon. And yes—time passes, only people don't age. That's the only thing that's affected, for some reason. Humans cannot age, grow, die of old age . . . but the trees, the animals, they grow old and die."

"Why is it different for people?" she wondered aloud, ignoring his knowledge and ability to map time by the sun alone so that she wouldn't have to be impressed.

He shrugged, an unusually soft smile on his face. "Magic," he said simply.

The thought of magic still unnerved her, especially with Gold and Regina's insistence that she had magic herself. "I thought you hated magic," she said.

His jaw tightened a fraction and he looked away, out to sea. "I hate dark magic, and people who use it for their own gain. I've never met a human who used light magic."

"A human? Who else—?"

"Pixies, love," he smiled. "Neverland's full of them; I made friends with a few when I was here last."

"Just how many times have you been here?" she asked, leaning forwards unconsciously.

He ran one finger along his hook absentmindedly. "Twice. Once with my brother, many years ago. I was a different man, back then . . . it was before I became a pirate. Then, when Milah was killed, for three hundred years. I had to make a deal with Pan to leave the second time. Believe me when I say I was in no hurry to return." With a glance at her face, he seemed realise what he'd said and backtracked quickly. "I would do it again. What kind of man would I be if I stood by and watched an innocent child taken to this place when I knew I could be of service? Emma, I would return here a thousand times to see your lad returned to you." His voice was earnest, his stunning cerulean eyes deep with sincerity.

She wasn't sure if it was the rare sincerity in his tone or the use of her name rather than one of the many pet names he usually employed, but his words brought her closer to tears than she'd been since Henry had been taken. She turned away, blinking furiously. "Thank you, Hook. I know you didn't have to come—I know you didn't want to return here, and I really am grateful."

He was silent for a minute, scanning the horizon. "There!" he said suddenly, rounding the helm to stand beside her, pointing out to sea.

"What? Hook—"

"Land," he grinned.

She followed his gaze over the sea to the horizon, and saw a long, dark smudge against the deep, blue-green sea. From so far away it could have been a low cloud hanging over the waves, but she trusted Hook's navigation. "That's Neverland? How soon can we get there?"

"I can get us there in under an hour," he smirked, locking the helm in place and jumping to tighten the main sail.

Before she could fully register what she was doing, she ran to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her face against his shoulder and breathing in his ocean-and-rum scent. He stood frozen for a second, before his arms came around her waist and pulled her close. The smooth metal of his hook was cool against the small of her back even through her tank top, his hand felt even warmer in contrast. "Thank you," she murmured, "thank you so much."

* * *

**Hook**

They were two puzzles pieces, carved centuries apart but designed so that his arms circled her waist exactly and her head rested comfortably on his shoulder. He turned his face into her silky hair and breathed the clean, fresh scent of lavender and soap.

Far too soon for his liking, she pulled back and stepped free of his embrace. He let his arms drop and regarded her beneath raised eyebrows. "What was—?"

She cut him off quickly, gesturing to where her parents were walking onto deck followed by the witch, Regina. "Mary Margaret, David," she called, "Hook says we'll be there in under an hour."

Emma's parents beamed, hugging each other excitedly. He always found it odd to watch them together. That two people could be so in sync in everything they did was eerie. He'd never been that way with Milah—never finished her sentences or had that instinctive knowledge of where she was at all times. He rubbed absentmindedly at the tattoo on his wrist; her name forever branded on his skin.

It hadn't been his choice—a fairy whose favoured consort he'd murdered had woven the ink into his skin with magic, to remind him every day of his broken heart. The ink had been as bright as fresh blood all those years ago, but over the years it had faded to the point where the dull crimson was only visible close up.

"David," he called, dragging himself from his thoughts, "Give the fore sails and the main sails slack." The prince's eyes clouded briefly with confusion and he looked between the sails on the ship. Hook gave a small, exasperated sigh and gestured with his steel limb. "Those ropes. I _have _told you before. Twice."

The sails danced and snapped against the masts when David loosened them; Hook busied himself tying up ropes and slackening the jib. Neverland rose up out of the sea before them, larger with every passing second. He'd never regretted the Jolly Roger's magic as much as he did then, when his enchanted ship sped him towards the place that haunted his nightmares. _For Emma, _he reminded himself grimly, giving the rope a final tug. _And perhaps,_ he realised, recalling his earlier fears about having no purpose beyond revenge, _for yourself too. _

* * *

**Emma**

Hook dropped the anchor a few hundred metres from the shore. "Welcome to Neverland," he said.

David went to help him take in the sails, leaving Emma alone with Mary Margaret. "We're so close to Henry," she murmured, gazing at the island. Dark green jungle rose up from the lowest parts of the crescent-shaped island, climbing up to high rocky outcrops. "I have to find him," she murmured.

"You will!" Mary Margaret insisted. She wrapped a hesitant arm around Emma's waist. It had to be one of the first times they'd hugged since the curse had been broken, Emma realised. She relaxed into her mother's arms with a sigh.

"I have to. Mary Margaret, what if they've hurt him? Hook says they're dangerous, more dangerous than anyone we've faced before. I should have stopped them taking him, I should have—"

Mary Margaret cut her off firmly. "Stop it. Nothing you could have done would have stopped Henry being taken, nothing at all. You're his mother; no-one would fight harder for him."

Emma turned away, biting at her lip. "What if I do fight as hard as possible," she murmured, "and it still isn't enough?"

It was her biggest fear, that she would fail Henry even if she gave everything for him, and even Mary Margaret had no answer.


End file.
